


nuance

by rhys



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, my poor baby cullen you will eventually get your lovin i promise, tonight is just not that night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhys/pseuds/rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen eavesdrops on Lavellan and Cassandra having a Girl Talk. The whole thing goes about as well as you would expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nuance

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt was "girl talk + Lavellan & Cassandra" and Cullen kind of took over my piece. come say hi at serahcullen.tumblr.com!

Even when the most vigilant protectors of Skyhold slept, Cullen often found himself pacing his office like some impatient, caged beast. Some nights his sleeplessness was the product of worry- worry over his men, over his friends, over the fate of Thedas, over  _her._ Others it was the steady torture of withdrawal, an agonizing mix of flames burning him from the inside and ice creeping in on him from out, all with a heaping dose of nausea thrown in. There was always work to be done at the hold, especially for the Commander, and he'd be hard-pressed to abandon his tasks for something as mundane as sleep when the act gave him no peace or rest anyway.

Tonight, however, he found himself drifting, having read one line of the requisition report on the Hinterlands camps six times and still at a loss for meaning. Skyhold had descended into the hushed silence of late night, the snow a thick muffling blanket that could almost convince a man that the outside world didn't exist and no danger could find them. He knew better, but he also knew when he'd reached his limit. Maybe he could bring the report to the Inquisitor, as she often requested to see any missives regarding the well-being of their men and women out in the field. Ulterior motives? None. Absolutely none.

It was simply- of course- that Lavellan seemed to have as much trouble finding rest as he did, though for reasons he didn't know; at any given time of night she seemed to be awake and active, working, even if it was simply checking her charges in the stables or stopping into the Herald's Rest to offer a few clumsy but earnest words of encouragement to whichever soldiers were in their cups that night. He'd gotten the impression that she hated feeling caged as much as he did, though for different reasons. Going from living one's entire life under the open expanse of stars to stone ceilings and impenetrable walls had to be a shocking change. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard her say she was going to sleep, or that he'd ever had anyone tell him she was doing so. 

They'd come to some quiet agreement over the past few weeks- sometimes she would peek into his office, piles of paper under her arm and a sheepish grin on her face, and they would work in a comfortable, easy silence until dawn rose.

Sometimes he'd find an excuse to wander down to the stables where she sat curled against her hart, Avya, reading by candlelight and seemingly unaffected by the cold- he'd sit on the wooden fencing and they'd spend hours exchanging stories. Sometimes it was tales of Clan Lavellan, sometimes anecdotes from his humble beginnings. His favorite topic was constellations, and how their individual cultures had different names and stories for the same starlit pictures. The interactions were simple and peaceful for them both, as far as he could tell, and he liked to think it was a chance for her to temporarily ease the tension that came with her responsibilities as Inquisitor.

Maybe tonight was a night for the stables.

Cullen slipped out of his door and down the battlement stairs, rubbing the back of his neck to massage out the knots he could feel there and his other hand full of report papers. Campfires still dotted the hold grounds but few lingered, most preferring the indoors to the bitter wind biting at his cheeks. He started towards the stables, only to stop when that same wind carried a wisp of two voices, deep in conversation. He'd know Lavellan's tones anywhere, and he'd spent enough time around Cassandra to know hers nearly instantly. It was coming not from the stables but from the forge near the tavern- smaller and less impressive than the Undercroft, but efficient in its own right. The door was not fully closed, letting a couple of inches of warm golden forge-light pour out and tint the snow in its glow. 

Curious, he made his way towards the door, halting outside as he heard a lull in the speaking, and then a soft sound. A loud sigh from the Inquisitor, but seemed off. 

Was that sigh... Dreamy? Lavellan was many things for sure. Perhaps sometimes overly optimistic, perhaps too curious for her own good- and often for his, given how often her impulsive and hands-on nature had nearly led him to heart failure more than once. Yet this laughter he suddenly heard was positively  _tinkling,_ the fawning sound of a fair lady sharing her affections with a treasured companion. It was a noise of Orlesian dames masking giggles behind hands gloved in priceless silver silk.

It was a noise that reminded him distinctly of the twin sisters he would often pass in Honnleath as a little boy on his way to market with his parents. The girls would squeak and squeal and dart back behind the bushes of their house at the sight of him while he blushed a furious red and hid further, panicked, behind his mother's skirts. 

It was not a sound that matched up with the Inquisitor he had come to know, so free-willed and spirited but sometimes so serious in the face of the tremendous responsibilities heaped onto her. She was still trying to adapt to a world away from her clan, struggling to understand this one. That kind of laugh wasn't one he would have expected- but coming from her, it certainly wasn't an unwelcome thing to hear. As far as he was concerned, she deserved a moment of excitement, even if it seemed uncharacteristic. What it was  _over,_  however, he didn't know.  

His mother hadn't raised him to skulk around in shadows and eavesdrop in doorways, Maker preserve her, but he couldn't help it. Just for a moment. That could cause no harm, surely? 

It took every ounce of Cullen's considerable discipline to stay completely and utterly still, lest his armor creak and draw attention to himself. 

"He's steady, handsome, reliable- everything I've ever needed to keep me grounded, and everything I've ever wanted, truly." He heard Lavellan abruptly gush, the gentle lilt of her accented tones suffused with warm affection. It warmed him in turn, like the heat of a campfire seeping into his bones. He felt his cheeks reddening slightly, wasn't quite sure why. A man? Inquisitor Lavellan, pouring her heart out to  _Cassandra_ over a man? While she certainly had a great deal of suitors seeking her hand- some reputable, some much less so- he'd not thought she'd taken a fancy to any of them. In fact, as far as he had known...

It was all he could do to stifle a groan. Had he been misreading her this entire time? Had he mistaken her kindness and playful jabs as flirtation? Certain comments- especially those blasted queries about  _templar chastity vows_ \- he hadn't thought could truly be taken any other way, but she  _was_ incredibly friendly with all of those in her circle of friends, and perhaps elves expressed their interest in a different way than he was familiar with. He could feel the temperature in his cheeks raise to flaming, mind buzzing uncomfortably. If that was true, he'd done her, to his mind, a great disservice by returning what he'd thought he'd been given; he had come to regard the Inquisitor as more than just a formidable and earnest leader of her people, though he respected her gratefully for those things as well. He couldn't deny, however, his growing affections, as much as he wanted to, as much as he knew a man like him was not worthy of a woman like her.

Unless he was? Unless she was talking about  _him?_

The possibility alone was enough to set his heart racing, and he cursed himself for his pride, for even assuming such a thing. Surely not. He should not let any form of arrogance, no matter how mild, get the best of him. Still... Just in case... He edged slightly closer to the door, aware he needed to calm his pulse. Cassandra, it was widely known, could smell fear on any living creature. He was loathe to know what would happen if she caught the Commander of the Inquisition, of all people, prying on her private chats with Lavellan. Who, he realized through the rush in his ears, was speaking again.

"-ven in this short amount of time, he's already been there for me in some of the darkest moments. Gorgeous and wickedly deadly when he wishes to be. What more could I ask for?" 

Cullen heard her trail off contentedly as Cassandra laughed softly, a small, nearly reluctant sound often reserved for Lavellan, who seemed to have the habit of consistently surprising her into amusement. "Fair enough," The Seeker returned evenly. He was close enough he could discern the sound of her shifting with the soft whispers of well-worn leathers.

"However..." There was no way they couldn't hear the beat of heart at this rate- he was fairly sure the Empress could hear it if pressed to, all the way in Halamshiral. For better or for worse, he had a feeling Cassandra was finally going to give him some clarification on the whole conversation.

Then game the smooth sound of a sword being drawn from a sheath, and a gasp of appreciative delight from Lavellan. "While I typically do not particularly sing the praises of Nevarra, this blade you  _so very subtly_ left hidden inside my armor case is... Spectacular, in honesty. No staff could withstand it. Nevarran craftsmanship at its finest- the engravings on the pommel are absolutely..." 

Cullen had the sensation that he'd gone deaf, a slow dread creeping on him. No- surely it couldn't- he pushed forward mindlessly on the door and into the room, nearly falling flat on his face after stumbling over a pile of staff blades laying on the ground. Lavellan and Cassandra both looked up sharply, Cassandra's blade protectively swinging forward towards the intruder. The tip of frighteningly sharp steel came to a halt only a sparse few inches from his chest as she recognized him, but he didn't even flinch, taking in the scene.

The massive, scarred old wooden table the pair were seated at was covered in weapon modifications- pommel wraps, staff handles, rune stones glowing with internal heat or crackling with ice. In the center was Lavellan's new staff, the beautiful creation she'd found in the Emerald Graves the previous week and had refused to let go of since. He, very suddenly, recalled Lavellan's oddly endearing penchant for naming everything- her mounts, her plants, and yes, her weapons. And referring to them as if they were people.

 _He._ He was her damn staff.

An odd silence descended as they both stared at him and he stared into the abyss of awkwardness, and it was only broken by Lavellan, who suddenly stood, a wide smile brightening her face. He was almost too distracted to notice the affection in the smile. Almost. 

"Commander!" She hummed, jumping up to sit on the table and twisting the staff loosely in her fingers. "What can we do for you?" She seemed relatively oblivious, but Cassandra- who had lowered her sword, placing it down on the table- had narrowed her eyes at him, studying his red cheeks warily. He caught a flicker in expression that seemed all too  _knowing_ and quickly looked away. Maker take him. He was not cut out for this. Give him a rampaging bear or demon or giant spider any day. 

"I had come to bring these when I heard- that is. Ah." He cleared his throat to stop the flow of words, lest he damn himself further. Something suspiciously close to a smirk was dancing on Cassandra's face. "Reports for you, Inquisitor." He finally managed in as neutral as a tone as possible, handling them over to the shorter elf.

He'd like to say that he didn't  _run_ from the room. He really would. He'd prefer to call it a brisk trot as he ducked out and made his escape, perhaps a tad too fast to be normal. The burn of Lavellan's curious, perplexed eyes on the back of his head followed him all the way back to the battlements. He really should have known. Weapons. They'd been fawning over  _weapons._

Women and their blasted  _toys._


End file.
